Face facts … a pre-arranged conversation with colleagues on a small screen is not the same as a casual chat in the corridor. Photograph: Jochen Tack/Alamy

There was a hit primetime sitcom in the US in the 1980s called Growing Pains, a modern tale of the japes that orbited around two middle-class professionals and their coming-of-age brood. It wasn't anything particularly remarkable, but it was the first time I had been introduced to a new kind of work arrangement: liberated by technology while maintaining a professional career, "Dad" worked from home and connected with his office via telephone and a fax machine.

Fast forward two decades and I, like "Dad", am also free from a formalised workplace. But my desktop is mobile: anywhere the web is, I can set up shop. Anywhere my smartphone is, I can receive and answer email. Anywhere my colleagues are, I can collaborate with them just as easily as I can with workmates sitting at the next desk.

The web has freed people like me because our skills aren't placebound. The Industrial Revolution cemented us into centralised bureaus, but now the traditionally officebound can work from home because networked computers make it appear as if they are actually at their place of employment. What is lost in a distributed work model like this, though, is the crucial informal workplace time that usually happens around the coffee machine or the water cooler. I once worked remotely for a company based in San Francisco from an office in Brighton. My direct collaborator and I had regular Skype conversations and we met the rest of the team once a week in a virtual workspace to catch up. But while I was forging ahead based on plans of action we'd established together, the objectives were naturally evolving because of interstitial conversations happening in hallways, canteens and coffee shops. Although it was possible to connect with me via web tools to let me know that things had changed, face to face was where a lot of the day-to-day work was done.

Beyond communication issues, the web has had a huge effect on the scope of expectations when it comes to setting up shop. The potential of a global marketplace has transformed what is perceived as possible even before a name, a brand, a service or a product is dreamed up. Entrepreneurs who dabble in digital technologies naturally think beyond the UK's physical borders because they know that the platforms they're using can reach all the corners of the world.

The placelessness of the web allows dreamers to dream by making some creators international sensations. It can also open avenues of opportunity for people who might previously have found them closed; when I asked readers to share their online work experiences I was deluged with stories about web moguls who are also stay-at-home-mums who set up shop on eBay, Amazon or Etsy. The barriers for working for yourself in this space are low: costs for starting up are minimal; products or services can be made to order, competitors and market rates can be easily researched, and work can fit into a busy life.

Being part of the global economy – despite its current wobbles – is also an important step for the psychology of developing nations, and the web delivers foreign shop floors to our living rooms. Broadband infrastructures are now an essential part of the development landscape; those countries that lack fast connectivity are effectively invisible to the rest of the world, making them unlikely partners to work with. Such has been the incredible diffusion of this technology over the last two decades.

But let's bring this back to Earth. For all the imaginings of e-entrepreneurs, the web has also raised an interesting problem for businesses whose remits are within a 30-mile radius of their offices. I recently had a conversation with a group of car dealers who wanted advice on how to use social media to sell more vehicles. They own bricks-and-mortar dealerships but are struggling with the direct competition they face from online outlets.

In the old days, the dealers would pull punters into showrooms with promises of exclusive viewings of sexy new models of the latest vehicles and then sell what they had on their floors. Now, nothing's a surprise, everyone's scouting around online and nobody's going to showrooms to buy cars. One dealer made an interesting comment that illustrates how the relationship between the customer and the business owner has changed: "Thirty years ago, I'd have sat on the local chamber of commerce or held a place on committees, and have really been a visible part of the local culture," he said. The web has reminded the dealers that they need to engage with the local community to keep their services at the forefront of their customers' minds. And while local councils is one way, they also need to do it in the online spaces to which their consumers have migrated.

It's ironic that this global network reminds us how important non-technological solutions are to good working practice. The web makes it possible for some to do their jobs without being bound to a physical place, but technology isn't going to replace face-to-face contact. In fact, it makes it more essential. How's that for a growing pain?